Silence in the Library
by Interface
Summary: The Doctor frequents the Library in the days before the Vashta Nerada; and encounters someone better than any book.


**A complete and utter random idea turned one shot of the Doctor in The Library years before the Vashta Nerada got their grubby little mitts on it. Quite short due to it being the 'full on' exam period for me, _proper_ writing will resume after all the exam nonsense has disappeared. DRiver, always. Enjoy. **

"Wrong!" he announced flicking another book over his shoulder and reaching for the next, "Wrong!" Another went flying, "Ah! Right! ... But mostly wrong!" The Doctor, travelling alone again, had managed to gain himself an unwanted audience, "One of mine!" he exclaimed before deciding once again, "Wrong!" The flying volume narrowly missed the head of an onlooker.

The Doctor had found the Tardis' library to be insufficiently stocked and had therefore decided that 'speed reading' in The Library would be an exceptionally brilliant pass time. At least until the Ponds were done holidaying on the 'Scottish ship' bound for new horizons. He groaned, realising he had completely saturated the History section of the fantastical place. Adjusting his bow tie he turned on his heel, strolled through the gap the crowd had made for him and went in search of the comedy section, he could do with a good laugh and new bank of jokes, though he rarely got to reach the punch line. He whistled loudly on his way, oblivious to the disgruntled remarks and glares from his fellow visitors. The Doctor burst through the double doors of the comedy section, he rubbed his hands together with glee before choosing his bookcase.

It wasn't long before he had, yet again, made himself noticed. Occupying a whole aisle, he sat surrounded by read piles of books. The shelves around him were looking sparse; the odd book lay horizontally on the bare shelves. The onlookers simply stared disbelievingly at the Time Lord sat cross legged amongst the mess, laughing so loudly that it echoed into every dusty corner of the endless Library. His laugh finally subsided to a chuckle as he shut the last book, followed by the silent shaking of his head and a bemused smile. Looking down at the mess he'd made only seemed to widen his grin as he stooped to pick up a few volumes.

He left the comedy section looking as good as new. All the books were now stacked alphabetically backwards according to the fifth letter of the surname of each author. He beamed proudly at his efforts, clasping his hands together happily.

"Good work," he told himself, "Excellent"

* * *

><p>Finding himself drawn to the Science and Space section was no surprise to him. The amount of books available in this section was truly astronomical. The Doctor slipped his hands into his pockets and allowed the moment of 'awe' to wash over him. The book cases went on for miles in all directions. Visual and audio projections were placed at the end of aisles for a more interactive experience - headphones to be worn at all times of course.<p>

His mood was suddenly dampened when he noticed the information node standing silently beside the doorway. The Doctor took and instinctive step towards it but was beaten to it by another visitor. He pocketed his hands once again and watched, head tilted with interest. The donated face was no one he knew, and why would it be? He wasn't the one stood in front of it requesting information. For a moment he was back in the future, the familiar white outline took him all the way back to when the Library was dark and silent. 'Red setting and dampers' he told himself. He'd have to work on that.

A sharp thud and a fluttering of papers caught his attention; a young woman dipped embarrassedly to the floor and began shuffling them together. The Doctor reached down to pick up the book that had fallen at his feet. It was open on a page of smudged drawings and old stuck in photographs. They were of faces, lots of faces; he considered each one in turn. He'd seen them all before, at one time or another, in a mirror, or a reflection in a window, or in the reflection of his companion's eyes. The Doctor shut the book. The blue leather burned into his fingers, it seeped into his skin.

"One man," she told him quietly, "One man with many faces"

For the first time since the Doctor's arrival, there was silence in the library.

He stared at her. She was younger than he'd ever seen her, though he'd clearly met her before; and told her, as he would do, to keep a diary of every time they met. To keep pictures of all his faces, to record down all the ways in which their enemies could be defeated. To go back, deep into his past and loan to him her expertise, to get him safely to her, to _her_ past and _his_ future. To keep locked in her mind the deepest of secrets, until they met, silently, once more, in the Library. He frowned humorously at her expression that brimmed with confused delight.

"River?"

"Sweetie?"


End file.
